


Clothes Maketh The Man

by SnowStormSkies



Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: Food Play, M/M, cross dressing, slight hints of twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-11-27 04:28:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowStormSkies/pseuds/SnowStormSkies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill is a Grade A enabler bastard, Gustav is perverted and poor poor Tom is stuck in the middle. Or, Gustav has a voucher, Tom should learn to read things, and Bill just reaps the reward. Or, Gustav has a plan, Bill works the long game, and Tom is a stupid stupid f*ck for ever believing that he could get away with not doing as he's told.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I owe my soul to three people: Fyredancer, for producing this idea in the first place and helping me to plot the basics, Ksena for being a brilliant and wonderful commentor, content beta and all around motivator, and Casey, for being the most patient and marvellous beta this side of reality. I am not sorry however that I may have corrupted you into TH fandom, Casey.

Gustav is going to have a good day.

He knows it. He _feels_ it in his bones, and if he walks with a little bit more of a bounce in his step, so what? He’s going to have an awesome day, and it’s all because of this little bit of paper. He eyes the bright pink postcard sized bit of paper again, even though he knows exactly what it says on it.

Tom bought it for him for his last birthday, leaving a plain red envelope on his bed on the tour bus instead of giving it to him in front of everyone. Upon opening it, a whole new world was opened up to him. They’d only just started dating a few months before, but this was… hmm. An _advanced_ present, and Gustav was privately pleased that Tom thought it up.

Though, quite clearly, he had not looked through it properly, or he would _not_ have given it to Gustav on pain of death.

It’s a little book of ‘vouchers’, but instead of half off shirts and food, it’s a sex voucher book from a store in the red light district of somewhere in Germany. Each of the coupons lists a sex act, to be torn out and presented, and they even have handy little lists of restrictions and penalties if one or other partner doesn’t follow through.

Some of them are quite simple – in the back of the book, there’s a whole stack of vouchers for blowjobs, stating _anytime, anywhere,_ and Gustav’s got a fair bit of mileage out of those. He’s still got than three quarters left, even though he’s been using them whenever he wants, in hotel rooms and bathrooms, and greenrooms, and the tour bus and the studio…

Being able to have oral sex on demand, or let Tom risk the penalties, which range delightfully from a spanking to public nudity, is a very positive thing in Gustav’s book.

But the fact is… he should have picked up the guy to guy version – Gustav suspects because it was in English, Tom hadn’t understood it very well – because this one? Is for a woman to give her husband or boyfriend, and the voucher he’s picked out for tonight highlights that like fuck.

_“One night in a hotel room: you, me, and my sexiest skirt/dress ensemble. Dinner and a movie optional.”_

Even though Gustav’s been trying to work out a way to get Tom into a skirt for about four months, he feels that this is not going to be easy.

Tom’s a boy. He’s tried to make it clear he’s a man, but he’s only seventeen. Gustav is eighteen, and in his books that makes Tom a boy and him a man, so it’s not going to fly that he claims he’s a man. But even so, in Tom’s book, he’s a male of the species, and unlike Bill – who is… something different entirely – he does _not_ wear skirts.

But this… might just help persuade him otherwise. The list of penalties on this card are extensive – they run from public sex, to spankings to getting out Gustav’s new favourite toy, the riding crop – he loves that thing – and if Tom says no, there’s another card in there for the same thing, and the book has a rule laid out at the front.

You can’t say no twice.

Gustav _likes_ that rule. He likes it a lot. There are lots of caveats, and there are things to negotiate, but the rule is very handy. He’s overcome Tom’s objections to a lot of things using it – up to and including fingering in public. It really fucking helps that the guy wears his jeans around his knees sometimes.

But he knows that he’s not going to be able to get Tom in a skirt without something else behind him because Tom is a Kaulitz, and the only way to fight a Kaulitz? Is to arm yourself with another one.

Which is why Gustav is standing outside Bill’s door at ten to six in the morning and praying Bill will see the funny side to his request.

Getting Tom to do stuff is one of Bill’s favourite past-times – he’s made a point of it. He’s put on Tom, had him cart around his giant oversized handbag, made Tom take him shopping for _hours_ without complaint – out loud, at least; the text messages from Tom were increasingly desperate and absolutely hysterical to both Georg and Gustav – but this… this is beyond what Bill normally does.

Normally.

Gustav hopes that this time… Bill might take a little step outside the norm and get himself involved in this.

He raps on the door again. “Bill? You in there – “

The door swings open. Bill stands there, one hand holding a very large bottle of wine by the neck, swinging it idly. Without makeup but still somehow absolutely pantshittingly scary, he seems to be either drunk or very very hungover, and judging by his swaying, Gustav is unsure which. Last night had been a fucking _knockout_ , and Bill had tried – unsuccessfully – to shove Georg off his spot as the top drinker of the band.

Gustav takes a very small step backwards.

“What.” It’s not even a question, it’s a fucking bullet point stabbed through the soul with a shard of broken glass, and Gustav would tremble if he didn’t have his little piece of card.

“Hi.”

“You must be. Speak or die.” Bill points the blunt end of the bottle at him and raises an eyebrow.

“I need your help,” Gustav licks his lips.

“Of course you do.” Bill sniffs but the absence of a bottle shaped dent in Gustav’s face prompts him to go on.

“I need your help to do something with Tom.”

“….I’m listening…” Gustav hands over the little piece of card to Bill, waiting as he hefts the bottle absently and squints at the small writing. A grin begins to seep across his face. “You dirty bastard, Shafer…”

“Hey, he gave them to me.” Gustav shrugs. “I don’t think he read it properly though…”

“Of course he didn’t,” Bill snorts, turning the card over and reading the list of penalties. “It’s my brother we’re talking about – he probably saw the word sex and didn’t even bother to check that it was a voucher book.”

“Oi,” Gustav feels vaguely offended on behalf of Tom. The boy might be completely sexually focused, but it doesn’t mean he’s stupid. Bill just gives him a long hard stare. “Umm. Okay.”

“Better.” Bill hands back the card. “So what do you need my help for, aside the atrocious fashion sense?”

Coming from a guy who wears chains, dog collars, enough hairspray to gas a small town and t-shirts with perverse slogans inviting people to the clit club, Gustav decides to _decline_ out of a sincere desire to retain his manhood and integrity. He does, however, let Bill know he will turn to him if he needs any help. Judging from Bill’s smirk, he hasn’t been convincing.

“What do you need me for?”

“I need you to help pick out a skirt for Tom.” Gustav hasn’t the first clue about skirt wearing, but Bill does – the guy is fearless in the face of kilt, skirt, mini-skirt, dress, and indeed underwear. If anyone can get Tom a skirt that shows off those endless legs, Bill can.

“Come in.” Bill turns away, leaving the door wide open for Gustav. “Now, Gustav…”

Inside Bill’s room, there are clothes _everywhere_ – Bill doesn’t know the meaning of the word neat, and has informed Gustav that he has no intention of learning it. After seeing it for the first time, Tom’s OCD of tidiness suddenly became less a strange method to Tom’s madness and more a survival mechanism to not drowning in clothing. The room looks like a bomb hit it. Jeans are strewn across the floor, t-shirts cast aside on the chair and the bed, jewellery littering the free space between hoodies and sunglasses on the floor.

In amongst all of this, Bill sprawls in a comfy armchair, casting the wine bottle on the floor to let it roll underneath the bed. He points to the other chair. “Sit, Gustav,” he orders, and Gustav obeys. When Bill is in this sort of mood, not even the Gustavian Bear dares to question an order from him.

“So…”

"So what do you need from me?” Bill gets straight to the point, crossing his legs idly, “What exactly can I do for you?”

“A skirt. Tom needs a skirt.” That is something that Gustav is quite clear about. The card says skirt – thus, Tom needs a skirt.

“Well done. You can read.” Bill rolls his eyes, picking up a half full water bottle from the pile of clothes beside him. He cracks it open, sniffs it, decides it’s not vodka and swallows deeply. “Would you like Tom in anything else as well as said skirt?”

“Anything else?”

“Jewellery? Stockings? A garter belt? Panties? French knickers? A corset?” Bill waves his hands around emphatically, “Gustav, you have the entire history of female attire to choose from – and that does not stop at skirts. Can you be a _little_ more descriptive than what it says on the card?”

“You can do all that?”

“Gustav, I can get Tom to you in a diaper and a baby bonnet if I try hard enough.” Gustav chokes on air, and Bill laughs, “He’s my big brother, but he’s not able to beat me. Not by a mile. So, come on… Spill the beans. What do you want?”

“Umm… All of it.”

“Oh my fucking God,” Bill snorts and then leans forward. “Let’s start simple. What _kind_ of skirt do you want him in?”

“Errrrr….”

“School girl, pencil, cheerleader, princess, leather, silk, one with buttons and an underskirt, preppy, slutty, miniskirt, hoop skirt, prairie…” Bill shakes his head. “You haven’t thought about this at all, have you?

“Nice.” Gustav hasn’t really decided that much – his main wank fantasy involved the words short and skirt, and that’s about it because he was more focused on Tom’s legs and backside. He’s no connoisseur of clothes, so sue him. Nobody could focus if they had those endless pins and perfect little pair of buttocks to stare at. “It has to look nice.”

“So… short and slutty it is then.” Bill makes a tick in the air. “Any particular colour?”

“If it looks good on Tom, I’m game.” Gustav is privately pleased that he’s forming complex sentences now.

“You want underwear on that?”

“Uh-huh…”

“And let me guess. Your only requirement is _nice_.” The sarcasm positively drips from Bill’s voice as he rolls his head back because just rolling his eyes doesn’t cover his contempt right now. “I can work with that, I suppose. You want the full works?”

“Full works?”

“Shoes, underwear, socks or stockings, a skirt, top, hair and makeup…” Bill waves his water bottle. “I can just escort him to your door in his normal sackcloth and hat ensemble with a tutu over the top if you prefer….?

“N-no. The full works, please.” Gustav _had_ been hoping for a skirt – maybe a blouse as well if he was lucky, but if Bill is promising him this, he’d be an absolute fucking idiot for not grabbing it with both hands. “I want everything.”

“Awesome. When?”

“…At the Golden Bear Hotel?” It’s three weeks and a bit away, and Gustav hopes that Bill will have enough time to work his magic and still produce an acceptab- an _amazing_ result.

“Three weeks… hmm…” Bill leans back, muses some more. “I can do it.”

“But…?” And there is _always_ a but with Bill. He’s not an altruistic person on the most part – Bill does not believe in free lunches and doesn’t ask for them, but equally, nobody gets one from him, either. Gustav prepares to reach for his wallet. He made a sizeable withdrawal at the bank last night just for this reason. “What do you want?”

“I’ll let you know on the night.” He smiles mysteriously, and Gustav feels an inexplicable urge to check that the floor hasn’t suddenly become lava or something.

“W-what?”

“You can _go_ , Gustav. “Bill points towards the door. “I’ll make sure to get my brother to you, wearing an appropriately feminine outfit for the night in the Golden Bear Hotel.”

“R-right. Okay.” Gustav stands up, feeling a little wrong footed but very very pleased with this morning’s work.

“One thing,” Bill calls out from behind him as he navigates the treacherous terrain of clothes and other crap that Bill thinks looks better than carpet. “Waxed or shaved?”

“W-what?”

“Do you want your boy _waxed_ ,” Bill speaks very slowly, which is good because Gustav’s brain is still not all caught up yet, “or _shaved?_ ”

“Umm. Which is better?” He looks over his shoulder at Bill who is grinning at him. He has _very_ sharp teeth, Gustav notices.

“Depends… How much is pain worth to you?”

"Depends on the result.” It’s true. Smooth skin is something that Gustav has taken great pains to achieve on his own body, and he wants the same sort of result on Tom for the night he has planned. It depends which method Bill is more familiar with.

“I’ll keep it a surprise then,” he says, and the pleasure in his voice is sadistic. If he starts rubbing his hands together and cackling, Gustav is running for his life and fuck dignity. Bill is a scary fucker at times. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy that!”

“And will Tom?”

“Who cares? I’m sure you’ll… _kiss_ it better…” Bill grins at Gustav and that’s the cue to fucking run. Well. Not run. Gustav walks very, very fast and closes the door only a little bit harder than normal. He’s just glad he got out of there alive.

Poor Tom, though, he reflects as he makes his way back along the corridor. He’d feel guilty for dropping him into Bill’s deft, trickster hands, but really, he should read the stuff he’s giving away better, especially if he gives it to Gustav. He’s not Georg, he won’t just let it fly after teasing Tom a bit. Tom should _know_ that – or at least he should have learnt it after the last time he told Gustav that he wouldn’t dare try to get him off as they toured yet another fucking city.

Well, Gustav was horny. And in his absolutely defence, the lube he put in his pocket hadn’t been because he would use it – he just forgot to pack it in his case that morning, and the sightseeing trip on the boat had been the perfect opportunity, and well… Tom lost his bet.

Once on the way there, and once on the way back, and Gustav made his point.

And he had seen Tom have to fight to stay on his feet and not attract any attention from the myriad of passengers that was just a few feet away in the restaurant as Gustav finger fucked him with first one, then two, then three fingers, nice and gentle. They’d spent a long time out on the deck, Gustav just rocking his wrist, letting Tom move back onto his fingers if he wanted to, covering their real actions by pretending to point out stuff on the mobile phone that Tom held with quaking hands.

It had been... an interesting boat ride, to say the least.

But he won’t tell Tom about the skirt thing yet. There’s plenty more _interesting_ vouchers from where this came from anyway, and if Tom catches wind that he’s given Gustav something that gives him too much power, he’ll panic and try to steal the vouchers back again.

And Gustav’s not ready to relinquish them quite yet.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Bill bides his time as he plots how to tackle Tom. He’s been making enquires about some things, where they’re going, what kind shops will be there, so he knows what kind of shopping he’s going to have to do, that sort of thing, but he needs to carefully consider how he’ll push his big brother into the right place to create maximum effect.

The simple answer would be just to do it and bulldoze over Tom’s objections, but Bill likes to think he’s got a little more finesse than that, and he can handle his twin in a more mature manner than grabbing him by the collar and hauling him around a mall. At least not while he’s trying to shop for female attire.

Instead, Bill shops alone online after checking Tom’s measurements – he’d be embarrassed at how easy it is to get Tom to acquiesce to a tape measure while wearing just boxers, but with the amount of time they’ve had to do it to get photoshoots and things right, it’s just normal for them – and he receives the plain wrapped packages with a blinding smile as the Pas look on, bemused. He’s been doing it for the full three weeks now, and tomorrow night’s the night at the Golden Bear Hotel.

Bill throws the last of the packaging in the trash – not out of a sense of tidiness, but because he doesn’t want to tip Tom off.

He’s been a little excessive, buying several variations of the same items and making plans to send it back if it doesn’t look _exactly_ right, but on the whole, his intuition is pretty dead on.

The selected outfit – pretty blouse, thigh highs, high heels that he’s fairly sure Tom can walk in, his best makeup kit, a dread scarf in very expensive silk rather than of Tom’s fucking awful beanies – sits in the bottom of one of his suitcases. Bill’s just collected the last part of it – a divine set of panties from a nice design house in Rome – from the front desk. It’s such a shame that he had to decline to add the bra to the outfit as well – even though he still paid for it and had it delivered – because Tom has no fucking tits and no interest in playing around with falsies to give an impression of some.

Oh well. His loss. For now.

“Bill?”

“Come in,” He shoves the panties into the suitcase and stands up to welcome his guests. Gustav pokes his head around the door and nods to Bill. Tom follows behind, his baggy jeans and tent sized t-shirt practically a criminal _offense_ to common fashion sense, but Bill lets it slide. He thinks wistfully of the panties he just hid and hopes that Tom appreciates the design work and laborious effort that’s gone into making them.

“Hey.” Tom sprawls himself in a comfy armchair, utterly at home now that Bill and he are in the same room. “S’up?”

“The sky,” Bill drily points out, before turning to Gustav. “Have you told him yet?”

“Was waiting to get here first,”

“What’s going on?” Tom asks, but he’s digging around his pocket – probably for his phone to fiddle around with since Tom has to fiddle or the world fucking implodes or something – and he’s pretty much already clocked out of the conversation. More fool him.

Gustav digs in his pocket of his ever present jeans – Bill shakes his head and pretends not to be bothered by it - and hands Tom the little red card.

“What the fuck’s this?” Tom laughs, not even looking at it. He grins at Bill, expecting him to share the surprise, but all he gets is a raised eyebrow in return.

“See, told you he doesn’t read anything,” Bill sighs at Gustav who grabs Tom’s wrist, pushing the card into his eyeline. Bill takes great delight in watching the colour drain out of his face. “Now, he gets it…”

“W-wh-what?” Tom turns to stare at Gustav who’s still absently holding Tom’s wrist.

“You really should learn to _read_ before you buy, Tom.” Bill shakes his head.

“…This is from the v-voucher book?” Tom stares at it wide eyed. “But… I brought…”

“A very interesting little piece of kit.” Gustav plucks the piece of card out of Tom’s hand, turns it around, puts it back. “And there’s your penalties if you want to cut and run.”

Bill’s read that card. He’s practically memorised it after only a few moments of reading, and he knows that the list of penalties is long, complex, and also right up Gustav’s alley. Tom swallows, Bill can hear it from where he’s standing.

“B-but why’s B-Bill-“

“Because you haven’t the first fucking clue about skirts and looking feminine. Guess who gets to be the _lucky_ one to put you in one?” He buffs his nails, checking to see there are no defects in them. He had them done a few days ago – he doesn’t want to be replacing them yet.

Tom gapes. His jaw actually drops and it’s not an attractive look even on their _excessively_ good looking faces. He’s still holding the card between two fingers, and Gustav still rubs his thumb over Tom’s wrist, but he’s absolutely gobsmacked.

“It’s okay, Tom.” Gustav’s voice is more soothing than Bill would ever expect, and he steps back, knowing that even though he doesn’t understand the full intricacies of his brother and bandmate’s relationship, Gustav needs to coax Tom into this. Pushing Tom when he doesn’t want to be – not even subconsciously – is a very bad idea.

“You want me to do this?” Tom points at the card with his other hand. “Seriously?”

“Yes.” Gustav voice is frank and honest.

“…Why?”

“Because it’s sexy, and I want it.” A shrug, and from his chair, Bill can see the pink creeping up Gustav’s neck even as he carries on talking. “Because I’ve been trying to get you into one for months, and you’ve always managed to slip out of it. So you know, golden moment.”

“…When?”

“Tomorrow night.” Bill steps forward again. “Golden Bear Hotel.”

“…What?” Tom had probably been expecting a few weeks to prepare himself, but if there’s one thing Bill knows as part of being a twin, it’s never, ever let Tom have time to himself to think things like this over. Also, never, ever leave an open flame or significant amount of explosives around them either because big booms are very fun, but that’s not the kind of thing Gustav is trying to get Tom to do right now.

“Tomorrow night.” He speaks slowly because Tom’s more than a little slow on the uptake and repeats it a third time to just make sure he’s got it. “You. Gustav. A skirt. Sex.”

““So why am I here tonight?”

“Because hairy legs are not sexy?” Tom blanches, and Bill grins. He’s introduced Tom to a variety of hair removal treatments over the years, and he can just see the little, whirling mind of Tom trying to figure out which one he’s going to be subjected to tonight. “Well, they are. Just not in a skirt.”

“Stop it…”

“You going all over?” Gustav’s thumb is stroking right across Tom’s pulse point in his wrist. He doesn’t even look like he notices he’s doing it.

Bill gives him a look. It’s the kind of look that doesn’t just say, _that was a dumb question_ it’s the kind of look that says, _that was a fucking dumb question, you fucking moron with a brain the size of a peanut_.

“All over it is then.” Gustav nods very quickly, and Bill grins, appeased.

“Off you go, Gustav,” he says, pointing imperiously towards the door. “Tom and I have some stuff to do…”

“What – No! Gustav!” Tom clings to Gustav’s hand, apparently not wanting to be left alone with his brother. Bill sighs, shakes his head.

“Let go.” Tom shakes his head and hangs on tighter.

“Nuh-uh. Want Gustav here –“

Bill doesn’t bother wasting any more time. He has a lot of things on his list of shit to do tonight, and nowhere on said list does _baby Tom until he lets go of the ‘Bear’_ appear. Honestly, big brothers. Cowards, the lot of them. He’s unfastening the grip Tom has on Gustav’s arm, lifting each finger before Tom knows what’s going on or how to stop him, and as soon as Gustav is free, Bill shoves him towards the door. Gently, of course.

“Take care of him, yeah?” Gustav doesn’t object to being shoved outside, and Bill is pleased. He’s trained them well, and Gustav in particular has responded rather effectively to Bill’s _unique_ ways. It’s so _handy_ having a band that just listens to him.

“See you tomorrow, Gustav!” he trills, slamming the door behind him.

Tom cowers on his chair, eyes wide. He clutches the little slip of paper that has condemned him to this.

“Get naked.”

Tonight is going to be _fun!_

\--

Tom sprawls across his bed, exhausted and faintly pink all over, but Bill is pleased with his handiwork.

It’s been one hell of an evening, he decides, stretching out in the comfy armchair again. Bill sips his glass of wine and sighs in appreciation. He’s getting good at picking the good bottles these days. But he needs it after all his hard work in the last few hours. The task list was extensive, Tom’s objection to almost every single item on it loud and dramatic; it had been a battle from the word go. It’s taken every inch of Bill’s ability to cajole, encourage, insist and in the end, outright _bully_ Tom into doing as he’s told, but Bill is not a quitter, and he is not a failure.

Bill fucking _won_ every round, even if he had to deal out a few slaps to very naked flesh to win it.

So now, six hours after Gustav dropped Tom into Bill’s little corner of hell and left him, the boy has been waxed all over, had a pair of tweezers taken to those _bushes_ masquerading as eyebrows, had his feet and hands buffed and de-dead skinned, his nails polished and coated with a clear gloss in preparation for tomorrow.

Bill decided on a blanket attack plan; going for broke and tackling everything. Tom’s dreads have been conditioned and trimmed, his entire body scrubbed with an exfoliant, and then moisturised with a high intensity cream, his hands shoved into cotton gloves and slathered with more cream to make them soft, his feet pushed into socks for the same purpose, and his face underneath a cotton paper mask to add life and vitality to his features.

Despite Bill’s reassurances, Tom hadn’t wanted _any of it_ , and he’d only consented to the bath under protest and a fearsome scowl from Bill. Once in there though, he’d been rather naked, rather defenceless and really, absolutely in the perfect position to shut up and take it, so Bill hadn’t bothered to ask again.

Also, Bill had discovered something new. Slapping someone with dry skin hurts them a bit. Slapping them on wet skin hurts them even more. As Tom shifts on the bed, two red handprints appear on his thigh, and Bill hopes that they fade before tomorrow. It would clash horribly with the panties after all.

But now, Bill is tired, and he’s still got a lot of work to do tomorrow after the whole concert, interviews, photoshoot thing that is his career. He’s got to actually get Tom into the outfit – and that’s going to very interesting, really – to escort him up the corridor to Gustav’s room. He envisions more desperate evasion from Tom, and really – it’s not such a hardship just to pop him one on the backside because he squeals like a little girl.

Huh. Maybe he should have gone for the naughty schoolgirl look after all. Pigtails are very convincing with that squeal…

Bill shuffles around the room, throwing the last of the wax strips in the bin and screwing lids back onto the bottles and lotions and potions that he’s used tonight. It’s late – gone one in the morning, and no wonder Tom is crashed out. Time for Bill to join him.

Tom mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “No more wax,” as Bill climbs onto the bed, rolling onto his side a little more to curl up from the cold. Bill chuckles, shoving his brother further over to the other half so he can actually, you know, sleep on a space that’s larger than a coffin. There’s more grumbling from Tom, and then true to form, Bill gets an arm wrapped around his waist, and he has to hold Tom’s forehead back until he’s peeled off the face mask and checked it’s all soaked in before he’s okay to let his brother put his head on Bill’s shoulder.

Far from being the big, brave, tough, playboy fucker that he claims, Bill has spent more than enough nights sharing a bed with Tom to know that he’s a fucking _cuddle slut_ and would wrap his arms around a blowup doll if it were warm. Seriously. He stares at the ceiling, refraining from the urge to roll his eyes as Tom snuggles tighter into him, his face now firmly planted in Bill’s neck. He makes a mental note to take video for the next time that Tom tries to use the ten minutes older card that’s been worn paper thin for years.

His phone vibrates on the nightstand, and Bill extricates one arm from Tom’s hold to reach for it. It takes a second of fumbling, but soon he’s looking at his messages.

_“Thanx Bill. Owe you one.”_

He considers his response for a moment and then laboriously types back _“u owe me three”_ because it’s true. Once for getting Tom waxed and creamed and bathed, and once for putting Tom in a skirt for later. And the third time… Well. He’s Bill. Call it profit, rather than just breaking even.

He puts the phone back down the bedside table, and Tom winds his gloved fingers into Bill’s shirt, pulling him closer.

On second thoughts, make that four that Gustav owes him.


	3. Chapter 3

 

“I am _not_ wearing that!” Tom is about five seconds away from stamping his feet, and Bill sighs. Tom is wrapped in a towel, still smelling sweetly of the body polish and scrub that Bill took to his skin with a flannel and plenty of elbow grease, despite Tom’s adamant protests he could do it himself.

And now he won’t drop the fucking towel.

“It’s a skirt.” Bill tries to have patience, but honestly, you’d think he just showed Tom a leather dominatrix suit or something with the way he’s acting. It’s _couture_. It’s _designer_. It’s _fucking expensive_ , and Bill had to pull in a favour to get it, so what the fuck is Tom complaining about.

“It’s a _skirt_ ,” Tom mocks right back at him, and Bill would take it seriously if Tom wasn’t clutching his towel around him like it’s going to protect him from the big bad skirt. Baby Kaulitz… Bill rolls his eyes and tries to speak calmly.

“Yes, and Gustav wants you to wear it. I don’t understand why you’re protesting this…”

“It’s a fucking skirt, Bill, and I’m a man!”

“Boy.”

“Man.”

“Tom, you’re about five seconds away from throwing a tantrum, smelling of roses and vanilla, waxed, shaved and buffed to within an inch of your life. At _most_ , you’re a boy, and I’m being generous.”

“…Fuck you!”

“No, Gustav is going to fuck _you_. Do we need to go over the mechanics of gay sex before you leave as well?” Bill has always wondered this – he’s dying to teach Tom a little bit of the knowledge he’s gleaned from various sources, but Tom shakes his head so fast his dreads whip his face.

“N-n-no!”

“Then shut your face, and put the skirt on.”

“…But the p-p-....?”

“Panties. Panties... You can say it... use your words....” Bill knows he’s won that when Tom sniffs and tries to slouch down even more. He indicates the silky undergarments where they lay on the back of the chair. “Do you want put them on first?”

“The card said nothing about underwear!” Tom hastily points out. He’s backing slowly away from Bill, but since he’s only going to end up in the corner, Bill lets him go.

“No, but Gustav did, and I believe there was a handy little caveat that said that underwear was optional according to the receiver of the little card.” Tom closes his eyes. Again. “Tom, for the love of _fuck_ learn to read shit before you agree to it.”

“I did read it!”

“Apparently not.”

“I – but – wha-“ Tom trails off, unable to defend himself from that, and then he bumps into the wall, and he nearly drops the towel. “Shit.”

“Well done.” Bill steps forward, holding the skirt in one hand and the panties in the other. “Which do you want to put on first?”

“N-ni-“

“And before you say neither, remember those penalties that I know you did read, and imagine yourself in them.” Bill treads carefully, and Tom thumps his head against the wall. “You sure you want to say no?”’

Tom is biting his lip ring, rocking from foot to foot as he debates, but Bill has had enough. He’s now well inside Tom’s personal space, less than an arm’s length away from him, and he leans forward.

Those four or five centimetres he has on his older brother are certainly coming in handy – not to mention the boots he’s wearing. Tom actually has to look up to stare his twin in the eye.

“Stop complaining. You’re doing this for Gustav, remember.” Bill leans in close, whispering straight into Tom’s ear, and he can’t help but relish the shudder for a moment.

“You. Are. A. _Bastard_.” Tom grinds out, shoving Bill away with one hand, but the other snatches at the panties in Bill’s hand. Good boy, Bill thinks, and he lets Tom get on with it – after stealing the towel and pulling it away. Tom squeals again, hands trying to cover his manhood – “BILL!”

Sniggering, Bill turns away, letting Tom get dressed in relative peace. He hands the skirt over his shoulder, and Tom huffs as he snatches it away. Bill hears muttering and confused shuffling behind him. “Button goes at the back,” he says, and Tom mumbles a thank you, and Bill hears the sound of material sliding up smooth skin.

Bill pretends to stare at his nails, rubbing them absently against his shirt to buff them, but actually, he’s concentrating on the mirror on the wall opposite. It provides an excellent vantage point for observing Tom as he smooths his hands down the back of the skirt, trying to find the zip without success.

“Oh for the love of God.” Bill spins around and turns Tom against the wall. “Stand there.” He undoes the one button Tom has managed to close, yanks up the zip, does _both_ buttons back up, and then leaves Tom standing looking slightly shell shocked. “Arms.” Whisking the blouse off the chair, he slides it up Tom’s arms, letting him turn around as he does the buttons up. As a woman’s shirt, they do up differently from a guy’s – on the left, rather than the right, and the small shell pearl fragments are complicated to do up.

“Thanks, Bill.” Tom’s stopped shuffling from foot to foot, just accepting what Bill’s doing.

“It’s such a shame you won’t wear the bra…” Bill tries to leave it open in case Tom does decide he wants it, but the expression of _what the fuck_ that he gets back tells him not to push it. “On the bed,” he says, turning around to the chair again to gather up the stockings.

“What – oh my _God_ …” Bill hears an moan from behind him, and he laughs.

He turns around again to see Tom perched on the edge of the bed, picking worriedly at the hem of his skirt. “Roll your skirt up and lie back.” he says, and instead of just shoving at Tom, he waits for him to ruck the skirt up enough to expose his thighs and lean back his elbows. He looks so nervous – he probably thinks this is going to hurt, but Bill doesn’t plan on it.

“Foot.” He’s presented with the right one, the toenails a soft warm pink, and he gathers the stocking up carefully. It’s the work of a moment to slide it over Tom’s foot – soft and tender now, and Bill restrains the urge to brush a finger across the sensitive sole – and up his leg. The little sticky patches lacey band at the top that hold the stocking up take a second to actually affix to Tom’s skin but Bill is patient, and it finally sticks.

Tom just lies there in the middle of the bed, allowing Bill to do the second one without any fuss, and Bill takes a second to actually look at him – slightly worried that he’s gone too far. Tom is really new to this – like, two days into what Bill has been teaching himself for years, and he’s really thrown Tom in the deep end. Not just a skirt or some makeup, but the whole outfit, and everything –

Tom squirms, and the skirt… has… a little… yeah. Bill refrains from laughing and turns away, allowing Tom a moment in peace. It’s not weird to, ahem… pop wood during it – newly shaved skin, being pampered, then the feel of the stocking sliding up the sensitive skin… Bill rather takes pride in his ability to enjoy it, but judging from the arm that Tom has thrown across his face, he’s not quite so confident in it.

Instead, he goes back to the chair and finds the pair of shoes he picked out for Tom. They’re not too high but they _are_ quite high; a round toe pump in black and a dull matte velvet with a gold insole and undershoe. He hopes Tom will be able to walk in them – they complete the whole outfit _just_ right, but he’s slightly unsure. Oh well. When he turns around again Tom is still up, still flushed and squirming, but at least he’s back in the room.

“Right foot,” he requests, and Tom lifts his foot again for Bill to slip the shoe on. It’s a perfect fit and he repeats the process with the other one. “How do they feel?”

“Weird,” Tom whispers from the bed, but Bill pulls him upright. “Wha-“

“Go walk in them. You need to get used to it.”

“Outside?!”

Bill breathes deeply and tries to remember that all the blood has been diverted from Tom’s thinking brain into somewhere far more fun but much less intellectual. “No. In this room,” he says calmly. “You can practice in here where nobody but me can see you.”

“Oh.” Tom stands up slowly, his brow furrowed a little. “This still feels weird…”

“How often do you make a point of wearing women’s shoes, Tom?” Bill asks dryly. “That’s probably why they feel weird.”

“Ah.” Tom doesn’t say anything else, and he starts to walk – his steps are uneasy, a little clumpy, but he doesn’t fall, and as Bill tidies up the bottles and tubes of stuff on the dresser to make way for his make up kit, Tom seems to gain confidence. Soon he’s walking with more poise across the room, able to negotiate corners and obstacles such as suitcases and piles of clothing with ease.

Bill leans on the edge of the dressing table and watches, carefully assessing what Tom is doing. It’s not too shabby – for someone who claims never to have walked or dressed in female attire, he’s not half bad. Bill watches closely but Tom doesn’t fall or stumble at all - he even manages a little twirl.

“Come here.” He beckons Tom to sit in the chair in front of the dressing table, and when Tom goes to sit, Bill pulls back him up. “When you sit down, you have to sweep your hand under your skirt, to keep it from creasing, and keep your legs together.”

“Why?” Tom looks mystified.

“Stops you from flashing everyone.” Bill demonstrates the manoeuvre for Tom several times until he’s sure that Tom has it. “Now you try.”

It takes a couple of attempts for Tom to get it right, but Bill is satisfied by the end of the little lesson that Gustav won’t be seeing the panties until the skirt is ready to come off, and he lets Tom sit on the chair.

“Being a girl is _hard_ ,” Tom mutters and Bill tries to refrain from smirking. They’re hardly girls – or women – but maybe it’ll make Tom appreciate the females of the species a little more. The amount of shit he comes out with in interviews could certainly be reduced to good effect.

“Hold still.” Bill sweeps a cape under Tom’s chin, tying it behind his neck, and when he gets a raised eyebrow, he shakes his head. “That outfit is five thousand euros and change of high quality goods. I will hurt you if it gets ruined.”

Tom shakes his head, but he holds his tongue, and Bill commences his final stage. He’s not going dramatic with the make up tonight – it needs to be light and soft in keeping with the outfit, and he stays away from black. Instead, he uses brown mascara and eyeliner and the warm colours in his eye shadow palette to turn Tom’s face from the androgynous end of the spectrum to the true femininity he has already perfected on his own face.

Perhaps Tom is feeling unsettled again, watching the transformation from male to female, and Bill lets him observe in silence, the only noises in the air the sounds of brush strokes, the click of opening and closing palettes, and Tom’s breathing.

Time passes – twenty one minutes according to the alarm clock on the bedside table – and Bill puts down the last brush. He reaches for the dread scarf on the dressing table. It’s plain cream, with gold thread woven through the edges, and Bill just folds it over and pins it into place on Tom’s head with bobby pins. It’s not too showy, but it keeps those long dreads out of his face and off his shoulders, and that’s what Bill wanted.

The last part is the jewellery; gold studs for ears that Tom’d had pierced years ago but now kept hidden underneath caps and sweatbands, a sweetheart locket on a golden chain, a single ring on his left hand and a bracelet on his right.

He whisks the coverall up and that’s it. Three and a half weeks of shopping and secret purchases in his bags, two days of hard work pushing and pulling Tom into an outfit of catwalk perfection, and now – only now – does it all pay off.

He helps Tom stand up, move up to the mirror on the wardrobe door, and Bill leaves him alone for the brief moment it takes to replace the cape on the chair and collect a bottle of perfume from the dressing table. This one hasn’t been brought specially for this occasion – it’s Bill’s own, _tender_ by Gucci. Tom stands still while Bill applies it, but it’s probably not out of self interest – he’s too busy staring at the mirror.

The Tom that stares back is a vision of femininity.

A pretty skater style skirt, navy with flowers on it, and a soft pink blouse are complemented by the thigh highs, and just with that, Tom looks cute and sweet, as though he were going out on a date. The shoes, on the other hand, propel the outfit from cute to something a little more dangerous, and the jewellery just rounds it out, makes it seem more genuine.

Bill is proud of himself. He could have taken it the complete other way, made it slutty and cheap and he’s sure Gustav could have lived with that and been more than happy. But Tom probably would have made it into a joke, made it into something that’s less than what the card implied by being crass in order to protect himself from it. Now, it’s a lot harder to just brush off – Bill could absolutely believe that he’s looking at his big sister, not his big brother. Even the way Tom stands and holds himself is different now – he doesn’t slouch or curve his shoulders over.

“You look beautiful.” Bill leans in, kisses Tom’s cheek gently. It’s true, and Tom doesn’t try to duck the compliment. He just blushes, and his hands brush the edge of the skirt almost reverently. “Let’s go, then.”

“G-Go?”

“To meet Gustav.” Bill takes Tom’s hand, holding it tightly. He doesn’t think that Tom will run off – not least because running in those shoes is impossible – but because he knows Tom needs the support right now. “He’s not shagging you on my bed.”

“Oh.” Tom doesn’t try to get rid of Bill’s hand, and he lets himself be led to the door – through it, and out into the corridor. This whole section of the floor is Tokio Hotel, so it’s highly unlikely anyone will see them. And even if they do – it’s hardly like they’ll recognise Tom. They make their way up to Gustav’s room, the quiet of the corridor loud in Bill’s ears.

He doesn’t bother to let Tom work up the courage to knock, rapping on the door of room 331 himself. He can hear the sound of movement inside, and then the lock clicks.

Gustav stands in the doorway, gaping. He has to swallow once, twice, before he can get anything out, and even then it’s laughably simple. “Oh, wow.”

“As promised.” Bill can’t restrain from sounding smug. That reaction was _perfect_. “Enjoy your evening, you two.” He reaches up, kisses Tom cheek again. “Have fun.” He whispers in Tom’s ear before he lets go of his hand.

“Thank you, Bill.” Gustav sounds ridiculously grateful. “I – just – wow…”

“You owe me.” He nods, stepping back. “Take care of her, Gustav!”

“Oi!”

“Bye, Tom!” Bill trills as he turns, practically bouncing up the corridor. Tonight’s a good night. The last thing he hears behind him the snick of the door to 331 closing, and Bill smiles to himself.


	4. Chapter 4

Gustav is going to buy Bill something very expensive, he decides. Possibly something with a designer name attached to it, in leather with a very expensive piece of jewellery inside it. Because, holy fuck, the boy has worked miracles. Gustav expected a skirt, he expected even a blouse, but after that – he had been banking on some makeup and a Tom who ripped everything off the second he got in the door. Asking him to stay in said skirt for any length of time would be... asking too much, in his opinion.

Instead… he gets a highly convincing, female version of Tom in skirt, heels, blouse and … yeah, those are either stockings or thigh highs, and Gustav cannot _wait_ to find out which. But the transformation is beyond anything imaginable. If he took Tom out now, he’s quite confident nobody would bat much of an eyelash at them both.

He almost decides to see if the restaurant downstairs does have any spare reservations, because dear God, that would be such a rush, but one look at Tom’s face and how he bites his lip makes Gustav cancels that plan.

He’s got room service sitting on the dressing table anyway.

“Hi,” Gustav says, and Tom laughs a little breathlessly, but the sound is genuine.

“Hi,” Tom says back, dropping the hem of his skirt where he’s fiddling with it. “So… what do you think?”

“Do a turn for me?”

Tom obediently spins, the skirt flaring out just a little, and Gustav catches a hint of lacy stocking top. It goes straight to his gut, a sucker punch with a manicured hand, and he takes a second to sigh. Yeah, he owes Bill _big_ now, but he doesn’t care.

“You look _amazing_ ,” He says, leaning against the doorway. He knows he’s grinning like an idiot, but Tom does look amazing, and he’s not going to stop himself from inflating Tom’s ego this time.

“I feel weird.” Tom perches himself on the end of Gustav’s bed, and there’s a moment where Gustav thinks he might have blacked out a bit, because Tom actually sweeps his hand under his skirt and sits with his legs together, like a real girl and okay, Bill’s taught him a little more than how to walk in high heels. “…Earth to Gustav?”

“Wha- Oh.” Gustav yanks his brain back into reality. “You hungry?”

“What are you planning?” Tom leans back a little further on the bed, and his eyes are dark. He’s sensed something’s up already.

“Something interesting.” Gustav chooses to keep it to himself for the moment, but he’s pleased to see that after all the time they’ve been together that Tom recognises the edge to his voice.

“And it’s something you’re not going to tell me, isn’t it?” Tom pouts, throwing himself fully onto the bed, his feet still on the floor, and it’s those fucking stockings; they’re doing something weird to Gustav, alright? They’re… making him think with his dick and not his brain, and maybe Tom does have a clue, because he spreads his knees a little more and grins at the ceiling. “Are you sure?”

“Stop being a slut and put your legs back together,” Gustav pings it straight back at Tom – the boy might be wearing feminine clothes, but he’s not going to win one over on Gustav just because. He has to earn that victory, and a little flash of thigh and some seductive words are hardly enough.

"Screw you.” Tom doesn’t put his legs back together – on the contrary, they come a little further apart – but Gustav doesn’t protest. Why would he? “What’s for dinner?”

“Food.” Gustav shrugs, pushing off the door frame and making his way over to the dressing table.

“Guuuustav,” Tom whines, and he’s not paying a bit of attention, staring at his newly painted nails with interest.

More fool him, Gustav thinks, because he doesn’t reach for one of the plates. Instead, he picks up a blindfold – one of his extra special purchases for this evening from earlier this week – and he hides it behind his back as he makes his way over to Tom.

He ends up standing between those stocking clad thighs, and he’s so delighted when Tom is accommodating and spreads them wider. Gustav is going to fucking enjoy tonight, he thinks.

“What?” Tom doesn’t even look down, still admiring his nails until Gustav strokes one hand over the skirt, right above where Tom’s dick is. “Wh- _oh_ …”

“Do I have your attention now?” Gustav waits for Tom to actually stare him in the eye. “Good. Come here.” Tom laboriously sits up, but there’s curiosity in his face too. Gustav takes a small step back, letting Tom come fully upright.

“Uh-huh…” The lip ring flashes, and Gustav restrains the urge to kiss him – kiss him and fucking play with that lip ring until he’s content, but the silk in his hand tells him to have patience.

“Close your eyes,”

“Surprise blowjobs are not cool,” Tom warns, but he obediently closes his eyes, and that’s exactly what Gustav expected. All mouth, no trousers, that’s Tom. So to speak. “Wha-“

Gustav ties the blindfold on quickly, and Tom raises his hands in alarm, feeling along the edge of the material in confusion. It’s a black silk scarf, one that was recommended to him by a PA for a ‘special lady’, and all it had taken was one brief image of Tom wearing it and not much else, and he’d been sold. Seeing it on Tom in reality is very satisfying.

“Gustav – you – what?”

“Leave it.” He holds Tom’s wrist, feeling the pulse there jump and skip a beat. “Let me…”

“But…” Tom trails off, just letting Gustav hold onto him, and he pouts. Actually, honest to God pouts, and the lipstick makes it more prominent, more… tempting than Gustav has seen before. But while he’s got hold one hand, he’s left the other one free to wander, and Tom takes full advantage, pressing the heel of his hand to Gustav’s groin. “I wanted to play with you too…”

“T-tough.” Gustav has to step away now, or his carefully planned evening will go to pot – albeit in the best way possible – and he grabs Tom’s other wrist. “Be good, Tom.”

“Or what? You’ll _spank_ me?” They’ve joked about it a little, and Tom probably thinks it’s just that, but Gustav is really rather fascinated by that small but perfect backside and how it would just colour the perfect shade of pink and how Tom would gasp and moan and beg for freedom.. or another strike.. either is good in Gustav’s book. “….Gustav?”

“Maybe.” He leans down, deciding to give in to at least one desire, and he’s pressing his lips against Tom’s, tasting lipstick and something warm and very Tom, but it’s different somehow…

Predictably, Tom’s desperate for more, his kisses passionate and a little out of control, until Gustav leans him back on the bed, forces him to relax into the covers and just accept what he’s given, not asking for what Gustav won’t give yet. Making his way down that endless Kaulitz neck, Gustav kisses and licks and sucks little bruises into existence, not very painful, but Tom feels the sensations and moans as he tugs on Gustav’s hair at the nape of his neck.

This is the way to play Tom’s body, Gustav has learnt. Sensations, and touches, kisses and stroking, using everything he possesses to drive Tom wild, and then force him to stay down, to take it even as he wants to fight back. It’s a careful balancing act, and Gustav has managed to upset it more than once, pushed Tom too hard and got the tables turned on him, but even though it’s enjoyable, it makes him that much more determined to remain on top the next time around.

“Be good for me,” he whispers into Tom’s ear, before climbing off the bed, leaving Tom to turn on his back, spread his thighs even more… He looks – _fuck…_ Gustav has to turn away before he abandons his plan.

“Seriously, not cool, Gustav.” Tom presses his hand to the very unladylike bulge in his skirt. “I need – **please**!”

“Nope.” Gustav enjoys the way Tom throws his head back, exposing his throat in a unconscious demonstration of his submissiveness. “Take your hand away,” Tom groans, but the fingers pressing against his groin end up wound in the duvet, and he turns his head to the side, sighing in frustration. “Good b… Good _girl_.” Gustav tries it out as a experiment, and the twitch he sees in Tom’s jaw tells him he’s hit it dead on. “Good girl,” he praises again, and Tom whimpers.

Content he’s done enough damage for now, he turns to the covered dishes on the dresser top, each hiding a surprise for Tom. Gustav hardly recalls what he ordered, and he has to check by lifting up the lids to make sure he’s got it right. He takes the first one to the bed – but he leaves it on the bedside table for now.

Tom tries to follow him, blindfolded eyes still tracking where they think Gustav is, and he reaches out, kneeling on the bed to stroke along Tom’s cheek. “You ready?”

“Yes.”

\--

“Yes.” Tom turns his head into Gustav’s hand, his gentle touch exactly what Tom needs to calm himself down. He’s on edge, caught half way between pleasure and panic, and Gustav’s confidence is a little scary when Tom himself is so profoundly off balance.

“You’re doing so well…” Hand withdrawn, Tom has no idea where Gustav has disappeared to, and he tries to lie back and relax. “So good for me,” There’s a touch on his ankle.

“G-Gustav!”

“Lift,” Gustav says, and Tom is obedient. He allows Gustav to lift his foot up and take off the shoe – thank fucking God; those things are uncomfortable as hell, and he has no idea why women subject themselves to them. The other shoe follows the first to the floor, and he flexes his toes, intrigued by the sensation of the stockings on his skin. It feels… strange. New. Different. Gustav’s fingers are gentle as they caress along the arch of his foot, up around his ankle.

“Shush, Tom,” he’s told when he whimpers at the touches.

It’s strange – when they normally have sex, it’s focused on the bits that give them the most pleasure, but now Gustav seems to want to direct his attention _everywhere_ , even to the parts of Tom that aren’t even that sexy and good, but “Oh!” He shudders in pleasure.

Gustav’s fingers are strong, and they just – “Fuck!” The massage he’s getting is amazing, and he’s content to brace one foot on Gustav’s thigh and let him just take away all the tension in the whole fucking world as he tends to the other one.

“You look amazing tonight.” Gustav’s voice is a little tender, and Tom turns his face away. The honesty is very clear even to him. “I love it.”

 _I love you,_ is what Gustav means, and the unsaid words stand between them. They haven’t said it yet, and Tom’s unsure if he can, but tonight feels like it might be the night.

“Thank Bill…” he murmurs, allowing himself to turn to jelly in Gustav’s hands.

“Oh, believe me, I will…” Gustav pushes Tom’s thighs apart, pushing on his knees to get him to spread his legs. The skirt lays over Tom’s groin, covering everything, but it’s so light and unlike heavy jeans that he feels naked.

“Please, Gustav!” he says, and his voice is hoarse.

“Move up the bed.” Tom shuffles his way back up the back, trusting Gustav to not let him ram his head into the wall. A touch to his foot again lets him know he’s there and Tom settles into the pillows at the top, but he’s not sure what to do with his legs – leave them spread? Keep them shut? Is it too weird that he’s having to think about what to do with his legs when normally, he’d just absolutely in control of them – it’s supposed to be instinctive, automatic, not just… not… this strange feeling of not understanding his own body.

“Stop it.” Gustav’s voice comes from the side of the bed – Tom tries to locate him even though he can’t see, but he’s crap at this sort of thing. “Let it happen, Tom…”

“Shut up,” he mutters, but he knows that Gustav is only trying to help. He’s too easily wound up when he’s not in control, and even though Gustav would never do anything he didn’t want, the fact that Tom can’t participate in it as he wants to makes him anxious.

“You’re doing so well…” The bed dips as Gustav climbs on, and Tom wonders what will happen now.

“I don’t feel like it,” Tom mumbles, absently digging his fingers into the duvet.

“You are.” Gustav is beside him in a second, holding Tom’s face, turning him to be kissed, “You’re doing so well, Tom.”

This, Tom can do. Kissing is something that Gustav has taught him over the last few months; not the literal act of it, but how to slow it down, make it hot and heavy, how to turn it into the entire focus of his body. To Tom, kissing was just a _thing,_ not something to spend time on – the faster he got someone’s mouth on his dick, the better, basically. But now – he’s content to spend forever just trading soft passion with his mouth, letting Gustav show him how much he loves him without a rush or expectations.

He stops fisting the bedcovers, brings up a hand to the back of Gustav’s neck and lets his fingers with their new polish slide through the short hair there. Gustav loves it, moaning into Tom’s mouth, and it’s awesome. Tom’s proud that he actually has a chance to learn his lover’s needs now, that he has time to understand what makes Gustav turn to a trembling, sweaty hot mess over Tom and what turns him into a sadistic, merciless lover who can go for fucking hours, just pushing his fingers into Tom, slick with lube and making him ride the edge of pleasure until he begs for release.

Gustav reaches up, rubbing a thumb across his nipple through the soft silk of the blouse, and Tom shudders. That’s yet another thing that Gustav never fails to exploit, rubbing them, sucking on them, biting on them gently, and Tom is torn between telling him to fuck off as he covers himself up and telling him to bite _harder_.

“Such a good girl,” Gustav tells him, and that right there is fucking weird, okay? Tom would tell Gustav to cram that up his ass, or Tom would do it for him, but … it’s … kind of …good…. He’s flushing brilliant pink, trembling and clutching onto Gustav, but the _good girl_ makes him feel weird inside, makes him feel hot, and his dick is throbbing inside his panties. He wants something, but he doesn’t know what.

They carry on doing that, Gustav toying with him through the blouse and the skirt until Tom thinks he might have to do it himself to get the message across, because no matter how much he moans and whimpers, Gustav still isn’t touching him enough for his liking. As soon as he dares to make that move though, Gustav takes his hand, presses it down on his own crotch, and Tom get the message.

Gustav’s pleasure, Gustav’s voucher, Gustav’s rules.

“Bastard,” Tom mutters, letting his fingers trail around the hardness beneath the denim. The shudder Gustav gives lets Tom know he’s right on the money, but too soon, his hand is lifted away. “ _What?”_

“I want to play with you some more,” Gustav says, and his voice is deep.

“Oh?” If Gustav wants to play, Tom will play, “How do you want to play with me?” It’s corny, but Gustav’s chuckle is warm and rich.

“I want to… play with you here.” He caresses Tom’s lip with his thumb. “And here…” The hand goes lower, brushing across the silk, leaving interesting sensations in their wake, but only when Gustav touches his nipples – just lightly through the material – does Tom allow himself to react with a moan. “And here…” The heel of Gustav’s hand presses against Tom’s dick, constrained in expensive ladies underwear, and that’s it. Tom lets his legs come apart, his head fall back against the pillows, and he just _wants_ now.

Teasing is fun, but in Tom’s opinion, action is way better.

“So pretty,” Gustav’s whispering, and he’s probably not even aware he’s saying it, but Tom is aware, and he’s fucking aching, and if Gustav calls him pretty one more time, he’s gonna… do… something? “Patience, Tom, is a virtue.”

“I ain’t got no virtue left.” He really hasn’t. He’d lost any sense of the stuff long before he first starting having sex with Gustav, or so he thought. And then a whole new world opened up, and he lost even more of his newly discovered virtue to this wonderful lover.

Gustav chuckles and doesn’t raise the point again. “What would Bill say…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, and Tom wonders what he means… What would Bill say if _what…?_ Gustav straddles him, his hands coming to rest against Tom’s chest, and they’re warm.

Tom flinches.

“If this blouse were to get a little… _messy…”_

And that’s something that’s not going to happen. “He would castrate you with a blunt microphone and make me a very unhappy man.” If it’s a five thousand euro outfit, it’s got to go back to Bill in fucking mint condition.

“Ah.” Gustav sounds a little disappointed actually, but Tom’s not willing to budge. If Gustav wants to get spunk on clothes, it can be on his own, and that’s the rule. “Well, it’ll have to come off then…”

“Already?” Tom’s not usually this attached to his clothes and especially not to female clothes, but he’s kind of intimidated with Gustav being so close and so intense. Being clothed gives him a little advantage over that.

“I like my balls where they are, thanks.” Gustav’s tone is slightly sarcastic, but Tom runs with it anyway.

“So do I.” He reaches out, tries to pet Gustav’s crotch in a show of bravado and confidence, but Gustav catches his wrist, holds it down on the bed as he reaches for the other one, holding it to Tom’s chest. “Gustav – what?”

“Undo your blouse.” And the word – blouse – cuts right through him and down to his dick, because it’s not just _a_ blouse, it’s _his_ blouse now, and he squirms.

“Why?”

“Because.” Gustav leans down, kisses him again, but the grip on Tom’s arm is firm. “Because if you don’t, I’ll tear it off and leave you to Bill’s mercy in the morning.”

“I hate you,” Tom mumbles as he tries to yank his hand back.

"…Ask nicely…”

“Give it back. Now.”

Gustav snorts and settles back a little more. “Nope. Ask me nicely, I said.”

“…Please may I have my hand back, you humungous dickbag, Sir?” Tom asks in his best breathy female voice, and Gustav loses it, sniggering as the bed shakes a little.

“That is … Never do that again, okay?” Gustav’s hand on Tom’s face is warm, even if he’s still laughing, “It’s fucking weird coming out of your mouth when you’re like this…”

“Maybe. No promises,” Tom grins back, and he’s pleased to feel a thumb nudge his lip ring because he knows he’s forgiven.

But even though his words are forgiven, he still has to undo his blouse, and Gustav traces his fingers down between the two sides of the garment as Tom separates them. It takes him time – it’s confusing because they do up the wrong way from men’s shirts, and he has to think about it, but Gustav isn’t letting him. Every time new skin is exposed to him, he has to stroke it, pet it, even leans down and kisses the notch in Tom’s collarbone as more and more flesh comes into the light.

Tom is hyperaware of the intense gaze that’s burning through him now, and Gustav keeps soothing him by tracing patterns on his fingers as he tries to force them to work. It’s difficult to keep his brain focused on the task at hand, and when he finally undoes the last little button, he breathes a sigh of relief.

“So good for me,” Gustav whispers against Tom’s lips before he kisses him, and Tom lets himself relax into the movements. It’s familiar, it’s warm, it’s right. “Sit up …”

The blouse slides off his shoulders as Tom sits, the soft material making his nipples tighten and his chest hitch as he responds to the sensations. Gustav leans forward, taking the shirt away, and Tom hears it slither to the floor. Bill can deal with a few creases – that’s okay. Warm hands push him back, and Tom feels Gustav lean over for something.

“Hands.” There’s a clink and then something wrapped around his wrists… Tom knows exactly what Gustav’s brought to their game now – a pair of leather cuffs, strong enough to be pulled and bitten and abused until Tom cries, but never breaking. They were the first part of his kit that Gustav showed him – and the first thing that made Tom aware that Gustav is, regardless of his appearance, not entirely vanilla inside.

Tom likes it.

Gustav guides his arms up above his head, and the chain between the cuffs rattles as it’s threaded through the bars of the headboard. Kinky, Tom grins as he pulls on it to test the strength but the metal is tough, and he’s tied fast. Fingers wrapped around the chain, he lifts his chin at Gustav.

“That all you got?” It’s a dangerous thing, provoking Gustav when he’s cuffed and unable to defend himself, but Tom’s no stranger to playing with fire, and he likes the results. Usually.

“Shush.” Gustav reaches across for something else, but Tom isn’t having that. He’s not being told to shush. Not now.

“Come on. Give me – _oh!”_ Something cool and slick swipes across his nipple, and he can’t help but arch up into it. “Wha- _fuck_ !”

“Like that?” Gustav sounds pleased with himself, and Tom doesn’t need to see to know there’s a smirk on his face.

“What is it?” He pants, confused and aroused beyond belief. “…Gustav…?”

“Nu-huh…” A tongue follows in the wake of the cool liquid, and Tom flinches at the flick across his nipple. “And there’s more where that came from.”

“Wha – _oh my God_!” Tom whimpers as another smear comes across his other nipple. It’s thick, and it’s making his dick twitch, and he wants a hand down in his panties to take away that glorious ache.

“Stay still, Tom…” Gustav pulls a few of the pillows out from behind his back, and Tom groans as he’s made to lie flat on the bed. “You don’t want to get this on your skirt…”

“What the fuck is it, ‘Stav?” he murmurs, but Gustav’s mouth is far too occupied, licking whatever it is off again, but this time, he finishes up with just a tiny little bite of the raised nub. The sensation goes straight to his dick again. “Please!”


	5. Chapter 5

  
  


It’s amazing. A fucking work of art. He’s no painter, but if he were, this would be the crowning glory in his collection.

Tom lies beneath him, arms outstretched to the headboard and chained there with Gustav’s favourite cuffs, looking so helpless… The blindfold only adds to that illusion, the black silk a scar of the most delicate material across that fine face. A pink tongue darts out, licking at the silver lip ring that captivated Gustav all those months ago when he first took a serious look at Tom and wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

The long Kaulitz neck, dotted with the kiss marks of Gustav’s ownership of Tom is something he can’t resist either, and Gustav trails a finger from Tom’s chin down to the gentle dip between his collar bones, before his attention is redirected to those rosy pink nipples.

They’re one of his favourite parts of Tom: sensitive and tender to the touch, a sure fire way to get Tom’s dick interested, and he would crack a joke about that being a chick thing, but tonight – tonight? It _is_ a chick thing, or kind of one at least, and anyway, Gustav is so caught up with them, he’s just trickled a thin stream of cream all over them.

They look good enough to eat.

So why doesn’t he?

He leans down, lets his tongue glide over the hard peak, and Tom moans, fisting his fingers and turning his head into the pillows as he tries to arch up. He’s hard – so desperately hard that even Gustav can feel it through the silk and his own jeans, and he’s so pleased with the result of his little experiment, that he does it again on the other one.

“Oh please!” Tom’s voice is high and breathy, and he pulls on the cuffs again. “Gustav – I need – please.” Tom wants more, Gustav knows – he’s looking for more than just teasing, but honestly, Gustav is content enough as he is, just driving Tom wild without anything else.

He carries on, dipping his fingers in the little bowl of cream that room service was so kind to provide him, letting it trickle down his fingers onto Tom’s chest, his nipples, down the long column of his neck, so it pools in the dip of his collarbones and the hollow of his shoulders.

He diligently licks it up as well, smearing it with his fingers across Tom’s overheated skin until he’s stopped pulling at the cuffs, letting Gustav just work his magic. He is, however, careful to avoid getting anything on that skirt – Bill will make sure he pays for it, and knowing Tom’s brother, it’ll be painful and humiliating as well.

“I need – _want_ – Gustav…” Tom is arching up again, pressing the raw need against Gustav’s groin, trying to force him to give in, and maybe, just maybe, Gustav is ready for the next step as well. He’s hot and hard inside his jeans, needing to take it to the next level, and he has ideas for those stocking clad thighs that he’s just about ready to put into action.

“Stay down, Tom,” he cautions, using his thumb to wipe away the last drop of cream on Tom’s chest as it sits there, a white bead on the dusky pink flesh, like a nipple piercing... Hmm... Now that’s an idea... “Be a good girl for me,”

“I can’t be if you keep doing this to me...” Tom whimpers, pressing his blindfolded face into his arm, but he’s holding onto some self control, and he just spreads his legs a little for Gustav as he climbs off.

Standing beside the bed, Gustav allows himself another moment to look – to watch what damage he has wrecked on Tom this time.

Legs spread apart, skirt gently fanned out, hands cuffed to the headboard, he looks like a wet dream come true, and Gustav can’t resist stroking his hand down the inside of Tom’s thigh, the delicate lace of the stocking top strange under his fingertips. Tom whimpers into the touch, and Gustav senses the tension running under the skin there. It’s time.

The skirt is complicated to unfasten – two buttons and a zip, probably selected by Bill to purposely frustrate Gustav – but once he’s slid it down Tom’s legs and cast it next to the shirt on the side of the bed, he turns back to Tom, intending to close the deal, but he’s staggered by the sight of the panties.

Jesus, fuck! He owes Bill a debt the size of the Antarctic now.

They’re pretty, a rich navy colour and cut into the barely there shorts that Gustav fucking _drooled_ over in Bill’s catalogue the last time he ran out of wank material. But there’s a huge difference from the flat picture to this living version: Tom’s eager dick removes any assumption of womanhood of the wearer, pushing the front out aggressively, and Gustav can’t help but lick his lips at the thought of what he will do very, very – oh so very soon, but first…

He strips himself, carefully folding each item before placing them on the chair at the foot of the bed. The calm, methodical act soothes him back to control, his brain suddenly taking over from his dick to take command of the events, and he breathes in and out with a regulated steadiness.

It won’t do to rush now.

He returns to the dressing table, almost clutching his dick in an automatic gesture to keep his libido in check for the moment, picking the bottle out of the bucket of warm water that’s also been placed there.

Tom is still squirming on the bed, his need for pleasure making him restless, and his knees come apart again as he tries to rut into the air. Tom thinks he’s ready, but Gustav needs to prep him first, because that kind of pain isn’t on his agenda now. He throws the wet and dripping bottle on the bed, and Tom starts at the sudden movement.

“Shush, Tom,” he soothes, climbing back onto the bed, naked as the day he was born. It feels weird – but good weird – to be naked while Tom is still partly clothed, even though neither stockings nor panties cover _anything_ , and Gustav revels in the feeling of the materials against his sensitive skin as Tom tries to wrap his legs around Gustav. “No, put them down for me…”

“I - _I want!_ ” Tom spreads his legs, leaving nothing to the imagination, but he’s trying to top despite being the one who’s blindfolded and cuffed. “Come on, Gustav, stop being a fucking –“

“Finish that sentence at your own risk.” Gustav will not let Tom take this time away from him right now. Not when it’s his fantasy and his rules at stake. “You’ll get what I give you.”

“And I’ll be grateful for it,” Tom grins at the ceiling, but the foot sneaking down Gustav’s chest says he’s still working on his own terms, “But I can’t be grateful for it if you don’t **give** it to me.”

“Be careful what you wish for…” Gustav shakes his head, reaching for the bottle and testing the heat of it.

Good, it’s just the right temperature now – warm lube is nicer than ice cold in a situation like this, and he sets it down for a second as he slides his hands up Tom’s thighs to reach the panties.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Tom moans in gratitude, and Gustav chuckles at the relief in those words.

He pulls them down slowly, teasing his lover with the different sensations he can create and Tom just lies there, taking it with good, if not silent, grace until the panties too are dropped over the edge of the bed, and Gustav’s left staring at what this entire evening has been building up to.

“Fuck,” He says.

\--

“Fuck,” Gustav says, and Tom laughs, breathless and lightheaded as all the blood vacates his brain.

“S’what we wanna do, right?” He probably deserves the slap to the inside of his thigh, and he laughs again, trying to spread his legs even wider. He doesn’t know why – probably, in about an hour, he’ll be really fucking embarrassed about it – but now it feels like the right thing to do, to let Gustav see everything that Bill spent so long waxing and moisturising and making just _perfect._

“Beautiful,” Gustav says, but Tom’s more interesting in the click that he knows so well – the opening of the bottle of lube, the beginning of the end, so to speak. He’s ready, so fucking ready, that if Gustav would just take him – “I’m not gonna do that. It’ll hurt you…”

“Maybe I want it to hurt!” Tom snaps back, he’s obviously not censoring himself enough, because he can sense the surprise on Gustav’s face even though he can’t see.

“Another day,” is all the response he gets to that, and warm, lube slicked fingers make their way between his cheeks, pressing at his entrance until he breathes out, unwillingly allowing them entry.

It’s true – it would hurt to go at it without prep – but just once he’d like to feel it. Maybe not nothing but just… less than normal? He wants to feel everything, every inch and hurt and bruise in the morning, not just pleasant aches, and have difficulty sitting down. That’s nice, but every once in a while he just wants more, and by fuck, next time he’s gonna have to ask for it.

Gustav isn’t slow with the prep, but he’s thorough, working Tom up from one finger to two to three, scissoring them to make sure he’s spread nice and wide. There’s a reason for that – Gustav is not a small dude when it comes sizing up the trouser department. Seriously. Tom half suspects the reason why he’s so short is because it kinda … all went to his dick. Really.

And okay, Tom’s never been a size queen – four months ago he didn’t even think he was bi, to be quite honest – but he’s been absolutely spoilt rotten by the size of that thing. Just a bit.

Apart from blowjobs. They’re… not so fun when dealing with someone Gustav’s size.

His musings about Gustav’s dick are sporadic, dispersed between the moments of awesome as Gustav works his magic down below. He comes back down to Earth when Gustav withdraws his fingers, and the only sound in the room is quiet panting from them both.

“Oh my God…” Tom moans, and he hears Gustav laugh. “Shut up. I’m so desperate I think I might explode.”

“Shame that…” The lube clicks again, and there’s more soft, slicking sounds, wet and thick as Gustav coats himself quickly. “You’d miss the best part…”

“So would you,” Tom grinds out, but Gustav is now more firmly between his legs, helping Tom to put them over his shoulders… “What the hell?”

“Call it a fantasy?” A kiss is pressed to his thigh, through the stocking, and Tom kind of shrugs. Whatever floats Gustav’s boat, he supposes, and then _oooh_ ….. “There we go…” Gustav hums a little as he pushes in, a gentle but steady pressure that rapidly spirals into intense and determined. Tom frowns.

This is the hard part – pushing past that initial pain to get to the good part, and Tom grunts a little as Gustav finally manages to press in to the hilt.

“You okay?” Gustav rubs his hand along Tom’s hip, and he winces – “You want me to stop?”

“No.” Tom keeps his answer short and sweet. “Move.” It usually helps to move, the changing sensations and interesting feelings riding over the first pain, . and he hopes it’ll be the same this time.

Gustav moves.


	6. Chapter 6

 

Tom is fucking _tight_ ; that’s the first thing Gustav always rediscovers about being back inside Tom – it’s like a vice around his dick, and he just rests, in to the hilt and braced over his lover. It’s a religious experience almost, and he completely ignores anything weird in that as he watches Tom arch his back, throwing his head back to expose that divine column of throat and the strange, secret vulnerability that Gustav hardly ever gets to see.

He’s aching to move, but Tom isn’t letting up the pressure yet, and Gustav doesn’t want to hurt him. Instead he reaches down, caressing those lovely, lacey stocking tops, and then down further still, letting himself explore the new range of feelings beneath his fingers. He’s always been fascinated by stockings and things like this – it’s so perfectly designed just to excite and draw in the people who observe them on women, and well… Tom’s got a perfect pair of legs for them; miles long and just right for wrapping around Gustav’s waist as they make love.

He trails his hand upwards, allowing himself to revel in the smoothness of the skin above Tom’s cock, caressing the naked flesh gently. Tom shudders beneath his touches, a small moan emerging from deep within his chest, and Gustav feels the pressure begin to lessen on his own dick. Reaching down to Tom’s balls, he’s pleased that the lube still on his hand is just slick enough to make Gustav’s messing around down there into something incredible, and this time there is a real and definitive response.

Tom arches up, his hands wrapped around the chain between the cuffs, trying to rut down onto Gustav’s dick, his intention loud and clear.

“S’good?” Gustav asks softly, repeating the move to just see if he gets a similar response, and Tom quivers in place. “Talk to me,”

“C-can’t,” Tom whimpers, and it really is a whimper – a desperate sound that goes with him turning his head away from Gustav. The black tails of the blindfold look like trails of slick darkness across the pillow. “Need – I – please…”

The begging only increases as Gustav smooths his hand down behind Tom’s balls, pressing into the tender flesh behind, and he takes endless satisfaction in both seeing the flinch deep in Tom’s belly and feeling a similar, fainter pull around his dick.

His hand trembles as he caresses the sensitive skin.

Tom presses his head into his arm, whispering something with bitten and puffy lips, and Gustav stops moving, leans forward a little to try to catch it.

“Come on, Tom,” he says, and his voice isn’t rough or firm. It’s a little tender, and quite fragile.

“Please… I … I need you,” Tom murmurs, and it’s as close an _I love you_ as Gustav expects to get at this sort of time. They’ve said the words before, been in this sort of position before, but never quite like this, never quite this open and honest with each other…

“I have you.” Perhaps it’s a strange thing to say, but he does have Tom, quite literally cradled in the palm of his hand, and perhaps that understanding has unnerved Tom a little more than he expected. “You’re okay…”

But because he’s not perfect and he’s only human, he presses his thumb into that beautiful pressure spot behind Tom’s balls and there’s the reaction he expected and more.

Tom arches up, his face tight and focused, trying to drive Gustav even deeper inside of himself, completely suspended between the chain on the headboard and his legs wrapped around Gustav’s middle, and it’s a shock to Gustav as the tight grip around his dick redoubles – or so it feels.

“Whoa, whoa…” Gustav takes his hand away from Tom’s balls, but he gets a moan and a frustrated huff as Tom lowers himself back down to the bed. “You like?”

“I’d like your dick to move,” Tom cants his hips down, trying to get Gustav to move with him, “Or I think I’ll motherfucking _die_.”

“Please don’t.” But Gustav takes the hint, leaning further over Tom, letting instinct and the intimate knowledge of how to please Tom take over and set the pace of not quite slow and gentle, but certainly not driving Tom through the headboard.

He’s tempted to remove the blindfold on the one hand, but on the other watching Tom’s reactions, now significantly less inhibited because he’s unable see, that are true and open and honest – every ounce of pleasure and pain carved into it – Gustav is fascinated. Tom is very rarely absolutely true in his expressions and what comes out his mouth, spouting crap at a hundred miles an hour, but now, right now… he’s so open; it’s strange to see.

It’s a Kaulitz thing, he supposes.

He presses a kiss right over Tom’s heart, and he hears the hitch in breathing that lets him know that Tom got the message loud and clear.

\--

Gustav is going to send him right off the fucking edge of the abyss, Tom thinks, somewhat hysterically.

He’s gone beyond aching, almost transcending his body into a plane where the only feelings are _want_ and _need_ and _pleasure_. Everything in his mind is coalescing around the idea of orgasm and release, but Gustav isn’t giving him quite what he needs- the final push to get over the edge into the free fall that he fucking craves.

“S-Stav!” He’s having trouble stringing words together because his brain is being deprived of blood and oxygen – everything is vacating south now and he arches up, near on sobbing. Not being able to see is making everything feel that much closer, that much better, and Tom has _never_ even approached this kind of appreciation of his own ability to process sensation as fast and as well as he is right now. “Please, Stav!”

He’s reduced to begging but who the fuck cares?

Gustav’s kiss over his heart isn’t burning or throbbing, but Tom feels as though those lips are still pressed against his skin, a faint pressure and tenderness wrapped up in something very Gustavish in its simplicity.

He pulls fruitlessly on the chain, wanting to wrap his arms around Gustav or grip the pillow or his own hair or something other than the fucking cold metal of the chain and headboard, slamming his head back into the pillow under it.

He needs – _“Gustav!”_

“What, Tom?” The words are faintly mocking, or so he thinks, and he wails – actually, full out wails, loud and long and full of tense emotion. Gustav sounds confused though, confused and a little like he wants to laugh. “Wh-“

“For the love of God, **please!”** Tom howls, and he’s not usually such a noisy partner in bed, but something about today and the skirt and the panties and the fucking stockings, and he’s all out of usual Tom. All that’s left is this strange, emotionally confused Tom, and he can’t take being tormented much longer.

“Good g-boy.” Gustav smooths a hand down his neck, pressing into the pulse point gently for a moment, and Tom sobs, his mouth open, unrestrained moans and pleas coming out of it. “Good boy…”

When Gustav reaches down, taking hold of Tom’s dick where it’s been pressed between them, neglected and demanding attention, Tom feels the world spin out control. He’s ready – so ready.

Slow strokes, alternating between Gustav’s pushing in and pulling out, a completely steady pace that’s maddening in its precision. But it’s taking Tom up that slippery slope, letting fire burn in his veins and rage under his skin, making him sweat and pant in need.

They reach climax within a few moments of each other, and Tom isn’t quite sure who comes first and who does it second, but one second he’s feeling like he’s going to combust in Gustav’s hands and then next the brightness behind his eyes flashes like stage lights and camera blindness. He feels a hot, slippery sensation, and Gustav groans, so deeply that he doesn’t really hear it, but he feels it through the connection they still have.

Coming down from the high is going to be interesting…

\--

Gustav holds Tom close, understanding the intensity was way beyond anything he can recall experiencing before, and that Tom would feel exposed and in need of protection when he comes back to himself.

He unhooks the chain from the cuffs, leaving it dangling from the right one and he brings Tom’s arms down slowly, waiting for him to come back to himself before anything else happens. Tom threads his fingers through the rucked up duvet beneath them and say nothing.

Gustav doesn’t try to force him.

The blindfold needs to come off though, and he gently unpicks the knot behind Tom’s head, letting the silk fall away to rest around his neck. Tom blinks, looking wide eyed and, for a brief moment, as innocent as he did when Gustav saw him for the very first time, holding a guitar and biting his lip as he talked about Black Question Mark.

The moment only lasts for a second, because Tom reaches up, rubs his thumb along Gustav’s jaw in a way that the younger Tom would never have dared to. And then he leans in, kissing Gustav with a soft intensity that makes his toes clench with pleasure.

“Well,” he says when Tom draws back for a moment, breathless, flushed but still looking pleased and slightly shy.

“Did I fulfil your voucher wish?” he asks, and Gustav can’t help but laugh. It’s what started this whole night off, but it was only the means to an end, really, and he ends up laughing and kissing into Tom’s hair as they recline in post orgasmic bliss.

“Yes. Yes, you did.” Gustav grins, leaning in for another kiss. It’s true. It was fulfilled beyond his wildest and most detailed dreams, and he looks down at those endless legs still encased in glorious stockings, and he eyes the clock on the bedside table.

They’ve got time, he thinks.

“Noooo!” Tom whines, rolling away from him, and Gustav shrugs. So what if he’s got a good recovery time? “You’re a freak, man,” Tom mumbles into the pillows, his pretty legs still spread across the duvet, and it’s doing things to Gustav again.

He shrugs, says offhand, “I’m awesome.” Tom snorts with laughter, inelegant but genuine, and Gustav counts his work done as far as making Tom relaxed is concerned.

They take a moment to breathe, to catch themselves again before it all starts again. Gustav has a nice bottle of red on the sideboard that the receptionist suggested, and a bottle of champagne sitting on ice too, because sometimes, celebrating what they can - the little moments, the things that make a good night great - that's what they have to hold onto when it's not so awesome.

Teaching Tom to appreciate a nice wine is something he's still working on, but this time at least, Tom gets it and they clink glasses while still mostly naked, spread across the bed and laughing. This is what Gustav is learning to love in this relationship - sometimes, it's all sex and lust and his dick is the first thing in his mind, but sometimes, it's pretty relaxed. They laugh and they joke, and it's just _good_.

And then Tom looks at him, over the wine glass, and Gustav senses a shift in atmosphere. Again.

“Need at least half an hour to catch up again, though…” Tom idly runs his hand down his thigh, as he puts the glass on the nightstand. He smiles, a little smirk and his lipring seems brighter. A careless hand is brushing over the lace of his stocking top, and Gustav is captivated without meaning to be. “I mean, after that? Jesus, Gustav…”

“Nu-huh…” Gustav doesn’t really care what he’s agreeing to because he’s stuck on those long, fine boned fingers as they caress over the whorls of lace. It takes him two tries to put the wine glass on the night stand beside him because his brain is caught. “Ummm…”

“I’m up here, Gustav,” Tom says, his face deadpan, but his fingers don’t stop moving, and right now, that’s the most sexy thing Gustav has seen. Last hour and twenty minutes, notwithstanding. “Or are you more interested in…. down…here?”

“Second choice.” Two words. Two appropriate words, fully formed and coherent. It’s an improvement. Of a sort.

“Really?”

“Uh huh.”

Tom carries on, just playing with the material, letting it rasp as he trails calloused hands over it. Gustav is very – incredibly – desperate to see this through to the end now, because he thinks Tom might have something amazing to show him. The boy is nothing if not inventive when he sets his mind to it.

“Watch me….” Tom murmurs, leaning back into the pillows, his legs held apart as he touches, strokes, caresses. It’s absolutely captivating and Gustav instantly adds watching Tom masturbate like this to his list of things to do again before he dies. It’s yet another thing they haven’t done before, but he’s rather going to enjoy it.

But Gustav isn’t content just to watch - he has to have just that last little bit of control, and he leans back.

“Put your panties back on.”


	7. Chapter 7

  
  


A knock at the door jolts Tom way out of sleep, making him flail desperately under the covers until he finds the empty patch of bed that signifies Gustav’s departure from him. Fuck. He registers the noise of the shower a second later, and he sighs. Morning.

He rolls over, feeling the cool sheets that tell him that it was a while ago that Gustav vacated the space, and he spreads his knees beneath the duvet, revelling in the ache that’s left. It’s gonna be an interesting day, having to sit down and concentrate on interviews and having his picture taken, but the memories of the previous night still linger around that fuzzy stage, and he’s looking forward to getting them back in technicolour.

They really shouldn’t have cracked the champagne last night, after all was said and done. Or the red wine.

“Go away!” he bellows at the door, but whoever it is knocks harder, demanding someone pay attention to them, and it’s probably Bill, knowing his brother. “Fuck off, Bill!” Tom mutters under his breath, but he’s already searching for something to throw on to go and answer the fucker anyway.

He finds last night’s shirt, a button down that he doesn’t remember picking up, and he slings it on again, impressed at the softness of it. Probably one of Gustav’s, he thinks, wandering his way to the door.

He flings it open to find Bill raising his fist to knock again, and he wants something, but Tom really isn’t the mood.

“Can I help you?” He leans against the door frame, debating whether to go back to sleep again. It’s too fucking early to be doing this, dealing with Bill’s demands and general weirdness at – oh, it’s probably about eight am or something.

“I just w-wanted to know how your night went…” And Tom can’t help the grin that curves across his lips, but then he hears…

More sniggering.

“Bill, shut up.”

“S-sorry…” But Bill doesn’t shut up, and Tom rolls his eyes, the headache behind them turning into a tiny pounding on this brain now that he’s upright and having to think. “Oh – I can’t!”

“Hangover, dear Tom?”

Georg?! Tom’s eyes have never opened faster, and he’s never felt the bottom drop out of his world so quickly, either.

It’s not just Georg, it’s most of the crew, some half in and half out of their rooms, and the TH camera team too, and _everybody_ staring at him. What? His relationship with Gustav is hardly a surprise – even if it is a secret to the outside world. It’s not first time he’s appeared in Gustav’s doorway, put it that way.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Georg’s face is impassive, and that’s kind of weird, but Tom just brushes it off, letting Bill cackle to himself. He might be Bill’s twin, but he doesn’t know everything that happens in that weird brain… “Are you coming down for breakfast?”

“Maybe. I might have something up here.” Behind him the sound of the shower cuts out, and he knows that Gustav’ll be out in a minute.

“Indeed.” Georg is frowning now, finally losing the blank look, and Tom wonders what’s wrong with him. "Are you sure? You could come as you are?"

Bill wheezes, his hands over his face, and Tom doesn't even turn to look at him. Younger brothers are something special and he's not awake enough to deal. Of course he could come as he is, but the ladies would be all over his sexy, you know? And it might cause a riot. He has a duty to protect them from themselves, and he's responsible about it.

“Uh huh…” He wonders where Georg is going with the interrogation, and Bill is now officially pissing himself in a corner. Behind him, Jost looks like he’s trying to swallow his own face, turning red, and his grip on his clipboard is white knuckled. “Are you guys alright?”

The sound of bathroom door opening behind him distracts him for a second, and he stares over his shoulder at Gustav. But there’s something weird with him as well, because the towel he’s holding to dry his hair with falls to the floor, and he’s just opening and closing his mouth without actually talking. “You’re fucking weird this morning…”

“Have you looked in a mirror this morning?” Georg bites his lip, and his hands have disappeared behind his back. “’Cause you really should.”

“Why?” Tom doesn’t care. It’s eight am, and he’s hung over. “I look awesome like always…”

A strangled sound from Gustav comes from behind him, and Georg nods very slowly. “Yes, Tom. Yes, you do.”

Jost squeaks. Actually squeaks like a mouse or a balloon as it deflates, and Tom knits his brows together in confusion. What the fuck is wrong with everybody this morning?

“Did you decide to take up a new profession? Make something different of yourself?” Georg seems to be trying to get him to admit to something, and Tom glares at him. What the fuck is he on about? “Get tired of the tents, Tom?” Bassist jokes are funny. Guitarist jokes aren’t. Unless it’s about how much sex Tom gets, and the answer is some variation of a metric fuckton. Then they’re funny. “Got bored of being just plain Tom Kaulitz?”

“No. I’ve always had this ‘profession and I am exactly who I was yesterday, you fuckwit-“

Georg is barely hanging onto his composure and Tom is really gonna punch him or something because what the fuck is he going on about, really? He’s not changed, he’s exactly as he normally is. He’s all awesome, all man, and all shagged out and he looks it but he knows that’s to be expected. Nobody needs to know how said shagged out got there exactly…

But as he raises his hands to add especially sarcastic air quotes he notices that his fingers, far from being manly and plain, have painted nails – they’re fucking pink! They’re pretty and pink and cute and everything they fucking weren’t the last time he checked -

“What the fuck?!” He stares at them, wondering where the hell they came from and then his attention is caught by the shirt sleeves – only they’re not shirt sleeves, they’re – what? They’re…He looks down at his chest expecting plastic buttons and a pocket on the chest because Gustav’s such a dork that he would have a pocket protector if Tom didn’t say fuck no to it, but it’s not a manly check shirt like he thought in the half light of the bedroom – it’s pink and it’s got shiny weird buttons and it’s silk - oh his fuck, it’s silk. It’s baby pink silk – he wants to rip it off with both hands but as his hands reach for the hem…

“What the motherfuck of fuck?!” He’s trying to sound deep and male but all that’s coming out is squeaks and … fuck his life he’s nearly squealing - what the hell is going on?!

“Look down.” Bill howls from the table where he’s clinging on for dear life. “Look down, dear big sister!”

Tom does. He can’t process it – there’s – what? Stockings? – panties?! He’s scrabbling to pull the hem down almost before he understands exactly what he’s seeing but they are panties and they’re dark blue and they hide absolutely nothing and his dick is all tucked away behind blue motherfucking lace and mesh and shit like that. The blouse is way too short to be any use even though he’s yanking it down, and there he is. Tom Kaulitz flashing his panties to the world. What the fuck is going on?

The entire floor bursts into laughter.

**“GUSTAV!”**   



End file.
